


Cross-coupled

by witchsoup



Series: Catching Flies [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Background Relationships, F/M, Fluff, background ronsy, emergency contraception is procured, lemsip is purchased, there is a History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchsoup/pseuds/witchsoup
Summary: "I suppose that's an upside to unplanned pregnancy. Tiny little Gucci trainers-"Her eyes flick up, and as they track across Hermione's frame a scowl forms in what seems like slow motion on her face."Granger?" screeches Parkinson, and Malfoy whips around, eyes wide.





	Cross-coupled

**Author's Note:**

> Most of us have been in the situation where we feel like shit and run into someone we would truly rather not see. Hermione has the flu. Cue Draco Malfoy.

She wanders the length of the aisle, a box of blackcurrant flavoured Lemsip Max in one hand. Uninspired by row upon row of boxed hair dye, she emerges at the other end with her phone in hand, ready to pay at the chemist's counter rather than the checkout at the other end of the shop.

Lavender works at the cosmetics counter. She's forever offering Hermione lessons in how to blend, and after the third lamentation of her utter hopelessness she began to think Lavender wasn't just talking about eyeshadow. The hoodie may have allowed her to pass incognito, red nose and watery eyes undetected, if not for the halo of curls and signature boots.

The quickly faltering smile of the healthy when faced with the walking dead does nothing to bolster her confidence. 

Ready to pay, she unlocks her phone and grimaces at the sight of her unread message count. It's only when she hears a familiar voice that her eyes snap up, and her stomach drops.

"I don't need a consultation- no, I need the morning after pill-"

"Miss, we can't sell you emergency contraception without performing a consultation, and the pharmacist is busy. If you could just sit and wait for ten minutes-"

"I've taken it dozens of times," she continues, and the shop assistant's eyes widen. "Draco, tell her. Tell her I've had it at least, what-"

"Thrice, at last count. Don't exaggerate, Pans."

Hermione shrinks back into the aisle, clutching her coat tight to her body and digging frantically in her pocket for a tissue to mop her streaming nose. Looking around, she deliberates on whether to abandon her foul tasting cold remedy by the Schwarzkopf boxes or risk yet another rousing speech on how they - Hermione and Lavender - lacking fluency in the language of love - at least, words small enough for Ronald Weasley to understand - should focus more on themselves, and the power of female friendships. And would Hermione like to come to Parvati's birthday drinks? Lavender could even do her makeup beforehand, if she wanted.

Not an option. Even less viable is the thought of walking out of this shop, the first place she's visited other than the toilet floor or her bed for the past three days, without something to see her through the last of this dreadful flu.

Conversely, she could just wait it out until Malfoy went into the pharmacist's office. The half crouch she has adopted behind a bargain bin of shampoo is good for her thigh muscles, at least.

"Fine. But I mean really, if you're going to call it emergency contraception, should you really be making me wait for it? It would have been better to provide some contraception before it became an emergency, like-"

"Pansy, would you stop talking for, like, two minutes? I haven't slept-"

"What self respecting club toilet doesn't sell condoms, for fuck's sake-"

"That wasn't a club. That was an old man's pub in the arse crack of nowhere. They had framed England shirts. It wasn't a club."

"I'm just saying, if you sell alcohol - if your entire business model surrounds, like, shedding people of their inhibitions - then you should provide the proper... tools to prevent them getting pregnant in the process. Pregnant women can't drink. Well, I'm fairly certain they had to pry the gin bottle out of my mother's bloated fingers, which would explain a lot, but in general, they're preventing potential customers from purchasing-"

"Pansy?"

"What, I was making a point," she snaps back.

"Come here."

She hears the clack of high heels and the rustle of clothing. In a moment of what Hermione can only classify as fever induced delirium, she risks a peek around the corner of the aisle. The back of Malfoy's obnoxiously blond head can be seen over the collar of a huge puffer jacket, bunched around the waist by a pair of pale arms tipped in black manicured talons.

"Draco?" she hears, muffled. "Why are we such fuck-ups?"

"Well I think it started for you when you turned up to the first day of school with a superiority complex too big to fit inside your tiny designer backpack. And I think it started for me the day you chased me up and down the playground and told everyone I was going to be your boyfriend."

Parkinson's arms unravel from Malfoy's middle, and as she takes a step back Hermione begins to process the miniskirt, the sleek blonde bob, the dizzying height of her heeled boots.

"I suppose that's an upside to unplanned pregnancy. Tiny little Gucci trainers-"

Her eyes flick up, and as they track across Hermione's frame a scowl forms in what seems like slow motion on her face.

"Granger?" screeches Parkinson, and Malfoy whips around, eyes wide.

"Miss Parkinson? If you'd like to come this way please?"

The pharmacist, a petite woman in a blue headscarf, looks questioningly between the three of them.

"Is there a problem, Miss Parkinson?"

"No, of course not. Draco," Pansy prompts, jerking her head.

Hermione swallows, the roof of her mouth dry.

"Better go, Malfoy. Don't want to keep your girlfriend waiting."

He looks pained when he bites out his response.

"She's not my girlfriend, which you would know if you ever deigned to speak to me-"

"It's none of my business who you're fucking, Draco." Shoving the box of Lemsip on a random shelf, Hermione smiles falsely. "I just hope you're at least sensible enough to get tested. Have a nice day."

Turning on her heel, Hermione tugs at her hood, pulling earphones from her pocket and staring at the knot intently as she stalks past Lavender without a parting glance.

It's drizzling outside, but her flat is only a short walk away. Doing her best to calm her breathing, she wonders if Harry would take time out of his training schedule to bring her supplies. The thought of a trek to the nearest supermarket has her stomach roiling in sympathy.

"Granger!"

Slipping an earbud in as surreptitiously as possible, Hermione picks up the pace, hoping to reach the crossing and leave him stuck waiting for traffic to pass.

She feels a tug at her arm and stops abruptly. Malfoy holds out the box of Lemsip she had abandoned, thrusting it under her nose.

"You can't just ignore people," he begins, raking a hand through his hair. Dark circles under his eyes cause a slick feeling of unease in her stomach, as her brain ticks through every possible activity that could have kept him awake. "Though that is your speciality, I suppose-"

"I couldn't hear you, Malfoy, stop being so paranoid."

He snakes a hand out of his pocket, tugging on the end of her earphone which swings free, unconnected at the other end.

"Really? I think you should speak to someone if you're hearing things that aren't actually there."

Hermione scowls, scrubbing at her nose with a tissue.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I, uh, how are you?"

"How are you? Oh, I'm great, thanks for asking. I haven't been able to walk five steps without spewing for the past four days, but aside from that I'm absolutely splendid, how are you?"

"I could give you a lift?" His tone brightens, and he pulls the keys to his Range Rover out of his pocket. "It's a twenty-minute walk back to your flat-"

Malfoy cuts off at her blank expression, touches of pink appearing on his cheeks.

"What about Parkinson?"

“Pansy only lives up the street, and she can get an Uber if she’s that desperate-”

“How very chivalrous of you. I’m glad to see that expensive education did you so much good-”

“I didn’t fucking sleep with her, ok?” he half shouts. “She’s my best fucking friend,” he continues, lowering his voice. “I picked her up last night and brought her back to London. Would you please just get in the car?”

Eyeing him warily, she waves one hand, gesturing for him to lead the way. Once they’re inside, Hermione shifts uncomfortably on the heated seats.

“What was Parkinson doing outside of London? Doesn’t she know dragons cease to exist if they get too far away from the Wyrmberg?”

Draco scoffs, flicking on the indicator.

“She was on a date.”

Hermione wrinkles her nose, pulling the parking sticker from Malfoy’s window and folding it into consecutively smaller squares.

“At a pub in the middle of nowhere, in those heels? She must really be pulling out all the stops.”

“My thought process exactly. Which is why I picked her up in the middle of the fucking night.”

Hermione turns to stare at him, and after a few moments, Draco begins to squirm.

“What?”

“Well? Who was it?”

“If Pansy wanted people to know who she was seeing, every single person in Britain with an Instagram account would be acutely aware.”

“That’s a load of bollocks. If you’re _that_ ashamed of someone you don’t dress up like that for them.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Granger,” he asks with a smile, “That some people, Pansy included, like to get dressed up for themselves? Just for the sake of looking nice? There is a whole world beyond Dr Martens and Potter’s old jumpers. Anyway, it’s not my secret to tell. I’m sure you know all about those.”

As he flicks on the windscreen wipers, Hermione considers every Halloween party she’s attended since the age of eleven: swearing up and down that Harry had an essay due the next day; that he was in the dental hospital recovering from getting his wisdom teeth out; that his car had broken down on the way to the party and he was, at that moment, arguing with the AA in his Spider-Man costume.

She thinks about the payslips that arrive through Ron’s door on the first of the month from his brothers' shop despite the fact he’s never put in a shift. Fred and George know as well as she does that on top of uni work and his shifts at the pub Ron can’t do any more to keep up with his rent payments, and that his parents would insist he move home if they knew.

“It’s serious, apparently. She went out there to meet his parents. I was convinced they’d come after me with pitchforks when I pulled into the driveway.”

“Pitchforks?” Hermione scoffs. “Why would they-”

Pulling out her phone, she scrolls through messages from Ron, sent at three am in the group chat Ginny gleefully named ‘the golden trio.’

“Ron is fucking _Parkinson?_ I’ve told him _so many times_ how important it is to practice safe sex!” she cries, the pitch of her voice causing Malfoy to jump.

With a gaping mouth, he stutters, “Wha- how did you- no, I mean, what are you talking about?”

“Ron borrowed Harry’s car to go home on Friday night. He told us it was his great-aunt Muriel’s birthday. I even asked Fred why he wasn’t going in their car and he told me it was because they were transporting _balloons,_ ugh, was everyone aware of this but me?”

“Don’t look at me. I found out approximately ninety minutes before I turned up on Weasley’s doorstep.”

The window wipers come to a stop as Draco pulls into a tight space near her flat.

“Why didn’t he just _tell_ me? I’m his best friend-”

“I’m fairly sure he only says that so as not to hurt your feelings, Granger. Potter is definitely his best friend. You can’t be best friends with your ex-”

“You’re best friends with Parkinson-”

“That’s different. Neither one of us is pining for the other.”

“I’m not pining for Ron, what are you talking about?”

“Granger, I think you’re forgetting that I know you rather well. Easy to do when you ghost someone and avoid them with proficiency such that they wonder if you’ve taken up a part-time role in the secret service.”

“I didn’t _ghost_ on you. I gave you a perfectly good explanation as to why we,” she begins, gesturing between the two of them.

“Yes, I know who we are, no need to point. It’s rude. Or didn’t they teach you that in state school?”

“This is exactly what I meant, Malfoy! You are such a _snob.”_

“Fuck off, I was joking.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes, interestingly enough.”

“Neither was I.”

She shifts, moving towards the door handle.

“Stop it. There’s no need to make it weird.”

“I wasn’t the one making it weird. I was following the natural progression, as it seemed to me at the time, of a relationship between two consenting adults-”

“I told you I wasn’t ready-”

“What, you weren’t ready to hear me say that I love you, or you weren’t ready to say it back? Either of those explanations would have been better than disappearing on me.”

“I didn’t disappear. I went on a research trip. It’s not the same. There was a number you could have called, in an emergency.”

“You say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, then you jet off to the fucking Amazon-”

“I didn’t say that, Malfoy, I said that you didn’t appreciate that not everyone had the sort of privileged upbringing you did- and _for your information_ that was a fully funded trip.”

“You told me I was a posh prick who would never get my penis - the size of which was inversely proportional to the size of my car, I think you said - within a mile of your vagina, even if I had a valet to park it for me.”

A flush rises on her cheeks, and Hermione palms the key to her flat.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll muddle through somehow. Are you coming up, then?”

**Author's Note:**

> Dransy are such a ride or die. Also, there has been a lot of noise this year surrounding campaigns to do away w the consultation surrounding the morning after pill in the UK. Preach, Pansy. They're largely unnecessary and can be very daunting. I know how much certain people enjoy it, but please, stop making life hard for people who can carry babies. Especially people faced with the possibility of carrying a baby we would rather not. We have a lot of other shit going on.


End file.
